Watch a Joyful Video Where 52 Renowned Choreographers Link Together to Create a Dance Chain Letter

Dance videos are hav­ing a moment, fueled in large part by Tik­Tok.

Pro­fes­sion­als and ama­teurs alike use the plat­form to show­case their work, and while the vast major­i­ty of per­form­ers seem to be in or bare­ly out of their teens, a few danc­ing grand­mas have become viral stars. (One such notable brush­es off the atten­tion, say­ing she’s just “an elder­ly lady mak­ing a fool of her­self.”)

You’ll find a hand­ful of dancers hap­py to make sim­i­lar sport of them­selves among the 52 cel­e­brat­ed, most­ly mid­dle-aged and old­er chore­o­g­ra­phers per­form­ing in And So Say All of Us, Mitchell Rose’s chain let­ter style dance film, above. Wit­ness:

John Hegin­both­am’s sprite­ly bowl­ing alley turn, com­plete with refresh­ment stand nachos (4:10)…

Doug Varone’s deter­mi­na­tion to cram a bit of break­fast in before waft­ing out of a din­er booth (5:15)…

And the respons­es David Dorf­man, who both opens and clos­es the film, elic­its aboard the 2 train and wait­ing on the plat­form at Brooklyn’s Atlantic Avenue stop … con­ve­nient­ly sit­u­at­ed near com­mis­sion­ing body BAM (Brook­lyn Acad­e­my of Music).

In the sum­mer of 2017 — the same year Tik­Tok launched in the inter­na­tion­al mar­ket — BAM asked film­mak­er and for­mer chore­o­g­ra­ph­er Rose to cre­ate a short film that would fea­ture a num­ber of chore­o­g­ra­phers whom out­go­ing Exec­u­tive Pro­duc­er Joseph V. Melil­lo had nur­tured over the course of his 35-year tenure.

The result takes the form of an Exquis­ite Corpse, in which each per­former picks up where the per­former imme­di­ate­ly before left off . Quite a feat when one con­sid­ers that the con­trib­u­tors were spread all over the globe, and Rose had bare­ly a year to ready the film for its pre­miere at a gala hon­or­ing Melil­lo.

To get an idea of the degree of coor­di­na­tion and pre­ci­sion edit­ing this entailed, check out Rose’s detailed instruc­tions for Globe Trot, a crowd-sourced “hyper match cut” work in which 50 film­mak­ers in 23 coun­tries each con­tributed 2 sec­ond clips of non-dancers per­form­ing a piece chore­o­graphed by Bebe Miller (who appears fourth in And So Say All of Us).

A great plea­sure of And So Say All of Us — and it’s a sur­pris­ing one giv­en how accus­tomed we’ve grown to peer­ing in on work record­ed in artists’ pri­vate spaces – is see­ing the loca­tions. Ter­races and inte­ri­or spaces still fas­ci­nate, though the lack of masks in pop­u­lous pub­lic set­tings iden­ti­fy this as a decid­ed­ly pre-pan­dem­ic work.

Oth­er high­lights:

The com­par­a­tive still­ness of Eiko and Koma, the only per­form­ers to be filmed togeth­er (2:19)

Mered­ith Monk singing creek­side in an excerpt of Cel­lu­lar Songs, a nature-based piece that would also pre­miere at BAM in 2018 (5:51)

Mark Mor­ris’ glo­ri­ous reveal (6:59)

As with any Exquis­ite Corpse, the whole is greater than the sum of its (excel­lent) indi­vid­ual parts. Rose ties them togeth­er with a red through line, and an orig­i­nal score by Robert Een.

Par­tic­i­pat­ing chore­o­g­ra­phers in order of appear­ance:

David Dorf­man

Reg­gie Wil­son

Trey McIn­tyre

Bebe Miller

Kate Weare

Sean Cur­ran

Faye Driscoll

David Rous­seve

Gideon Obarzanek

Jodi Mel­nick

Jawole Willa Jo Zol­lar

Rodri­go Ped­erneiras

Eiko Otake

Koma Otake

Angelin Preljo­caj

Bren­da Way

Lin Hwai-min

Bri­an Brooks

Sasha Waltz

Don­ald Byrd

Stephen Petro­n­io

William Forsythe

Nora Chipau­mire

Karole Armitage

John Hegin­both­am

Miguel Gutier­rez

Eliz­a­beth Streb

Zvi Gothein­er

Ron K. Brown

Lar­ry Keig­win

Annie‑B Par­son

Doug Varone

Bill T. Jones

Ren­nie Har­ris

Ralph Lemon

Mered­ith Monk

Lucin­da Childs

Meryl Tankard

Ohad Naharin

Daniele Finzi Pas­ca

Ivy Bald­win

Mark Mor­ris

Susan Mar­shall

John Jasperse

Solo Bado­lo

Abdel Salaam

Mar­tin Zim­mer­mann

Aurélien Bory

Ben­jamin Millepied

Bren­da Ang­iel

James Thier­rée

Ken­neth Kvarn­ström

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Awe­some Human Chore­og­ra­phy That Repro­duces the Mur­mu­ra­tions of Star­ling Flocks

The Mis­take Waltz: Watch the Hilar­i­ous Bal­let by Leg­endary Chore­o­g­ra­ph­er Jerome Rob­bins

A Dancer Pays a Grav­i­ty-Defy­ing Trib­ute to Claude Debussy

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

The Origins of the Word “Gaslighting”: Scenes from the 1944 Film Gaslight

You’re not going out of your mind. You’re slow­ly and sys­tem­at­i­cal­ly being dri­ven out of your mind. — Joseph Cot­ton to Ingrid Bergman in the 1944 film Gaslight.

Remem­ber when the word “gaslight­ing” elicit­ed know­ing nods from black and white film buffs… and blank stares from pret­ty much every­one else?

Then along came 2016, and gaslight­ing entered the lex­i­con in a big way.

Mer­ri­am-Web­ster defines it as the “psy­cho­log­i­cal manip­u­la­tion of a per­son usu­al­ly over an extend­ed peri­od of time that caus­es the vic­tim to ques­tion the valid­i­ty of their own thoughts, per­cep­tion of real­i­ty, or mem­o­ries and typ­i­cal­ly leads to con­fu­sion, loss of con­fi­dence and self-esteem, uncer­tain­ty of one’s emo­tion­al or men­tal sta­bil­i­ty, and a depen­den­cy on the per­pe­tra­tor.”

Of course, you knew that already!

“Gaslight­ing” is unavoid­able these days, five years after it was named 2016’s “most use­ful” and “like­ly to suc­ceed” word by the Amer­i­can Dialect Soci­ety.

(“Nor­mal­ize” was a run­ner up.)

As long as we’re play­ing word games, are you famil­iar with “denom­i­nal­iza­tion”?

Also known as “verb­ing” or “verb­ifi­ca­tion,” it’s the process where­by a noun is retooled as a verb.

Both fig­ure promi­nent­ly in Gaslight.

Have you seen the film?

Ingrid Bergman, play­ing oppo­site Charles Boy­er, won an Acad­e­my award for her per­for­mance. A teenaged Angela Lans­bury made her big screen debut.

In his reviewThe New York Times’ film crit­ic Bosley Crowther steered clear of spoil­ers, while mus­ing that the bulk of the the­ater-going pub­lic was prob­a­bly already hip to the cen­tral con­ceit, fol­low­ing the suc­cess­ful Broad­way run of Angel Street, the Patrick Hamil­ton thriller on which the film was based:

We can at least slip the infor­ma­tion that the study is whol­ly con­cerned with the obvi­ous endeav­ors of a hus­band to dri­ve his wife slow­ly mad. And with Mr. Boy­er doing the dri­ving in his best dead-pan hyp­not­ic style, while the flames flick­er strange­ly in the gas-jets and the mood music bongs with heavy threats, it is no won­der that Miss Bergman goes to pieces in the most dis­tress­ing way.

In the same review, Crowther sniped that Gaslight was “a no more illu­mi­nat­ing title” than Angel Street.

Maybe that was true in 1944. Not any­more!

(Cun­ning lin­guists that we are, had the film retained the play’s title, 2022 may well have found us com­plain­ing that some vil­lain tried to Angel Street us…)

In a col­umn on pro­duc­tion design for The Film Expe­ri­ence, crit­ic Daniel Wal­ber points out how Boy­er desta­bi­lizes Bergman by fool­ing with their gas-pow­ered lamps, and also how the film’s Acad­e­my Award-win­ning design team used the “con­strict­ing tem­po­ral­i­ty” of a Vic­to­ri­an Lon­don lit by gas to set a fore­bod­ing mood:

Between the street­lights out­side and the fix­tures with­in, the mood is for­ev­er dimmed. The heav­i­ness of the atmos­phere brings us even clos­er to Paula’s men­tal state, trap­ping us with her. The detail is so pre­cise, so com­mit­ted that every flick­er crawls under the skin, pro­ject­ing ter­ri­ble uncer­tain­ty and fear to the audi­ence.

Read­ers who’ve yet to see the film may want to skip the below clip, as it does con­tain some­thing close to a spoil­er.

Those who’ve been on the receiv­ing end of a vig­or­ous gaslight­ing cam­paign?

Pass the pop­corn.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ingrid Bergman Remem­bers How Ernest Hem­ing­way Helped Her Get the Part in For Whom the Bell Tolls

Alfred Hitch­cock Recalls Work­ing with Sal­vador Dali on Spell­bound: “No, You Can’t Pour Live Ants All Over Ingrid Bergman!”

Han­nah Arendt Explains How Pro­pa­gan­da Uses Lies to Erode All Truth & Moral­i­ty: Insights from The Ori­gins of Total­i­tar­i­an­ism

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

How Pulp Fiction Uses the Socratic Method, the Philosophical Method from Ancient Greece

No soon­er did Pulp Fic­tion open in the­aters than its direc­tor, a young for­mer video-store clerk named Quentin Taran­ti­no, became the new auteur to beat. Draw­ing from a vari­ety of cin­e­mat­ic tra­di­tions both high and low, Taran­ti­no’s break­out film showed main­stream audi­ences things they’d nev­er seen before, or at least in com­bi­na­tions they’d nev­er seen before. Its dia­logue in par­tic­u­lar was often cit­ed as an exam­ple of Taran­ti­no’s sheer film­mak­ing vital­i­ty. And so it remains: recall how many times, over the past few decades, you’ve heard lines quot­ed just from the con­ver­sa­tion ear­ly in Pulp Fic­tion between John Tra­vol­ta and Samuel L. Jack­son’s black-suit­ed hit men Vin­cent Vega and Jules Win­n­field.

It’s thanks to this pas­sage of Taran­ti­no’s script that even Amer­i­cans know the name of the French equiv­a­lent of McDon­ald’s Quar­ter Pounder. But a bit lat­er, and with a bit more sub­tle­ty, it also demon­strat­ed to view­ers what’s known as the Socrat­ic method. Such is the premise, any­way, of the Prac­ti­ca­ble video at the top of the post.

Named for its first prac­ti­tion­er, the peri­patet­ic Greek of the fifth-cen­tu­ry B.C. who has since lived in on dia­logues com­posed by his stu­dent Pla­to, the Socrat­ic method has come to be regard­ed as an effec­tive means of get­ting to the truth through con­ver­sa­tion, either with oth­ers or with one­self — or rather, as an effec­tive means of get­ting away with false­hoods: false opin­ions, false con­vic­tions, false beliefs.

Socrates, says Prac­ti­ca­ble’s nar­ra­tor, “would start off ask­ing peo­ple for a def­i­n­i­tion of a term like wis­dom, courage, or jus­tice, and through repeat­ed­ly point­ing out con­tra­dic­tions in their def­i­n­i­tion, and then the con­tra­dic­tions in their adjust­ments to their orig­i­nal def­i­n­i­tion, they would even­tu­al­ly reach a state of admit­ted igno­rance.” Such a process occurs in Pulp Fic­tion when Vin­cent and Jules dis­cuss their gang­ster boss Marsel­lus Wal­lace’s recent killing of a man who dared to give his wife a foot mas­sage. “Jules believes Marsel­lus over­re­act­ed, and Vin­cent believes that Antoine Roc­camo­ra got what was com­ing to him. At this point, we see Vin­cent try to get to the root of why Jules thinks it was an over­re­ac­tion.”

Con­scious­ly or uncon­scious­ly, Vin­cent does so using the Socrat­ic method, which requires first estab­lish­ing an argu­ment, then rais­ing an excep­tion or con­tra­dic­tion, then re-for­mu­lat­ing the argu­ment, and repeat­ing those steps as truth is approached or false­hood escaped. At issue is the inher­ent­ly sex­u­al nature of foot mas­sages. By bring­ing out con­tra­dic­tions in Jules’ own beliefs about them — he gives them to his moth­er, he argues, though he also takes pride in his advanced tech­nique, which he’s nev­er applied to the feet of a man — Vin­cent “can final­ly estab­lish that Marsel­lus’ use of vio­lence was, in fact, jus­ti­fied.” The dia­logue could con­tin­ue, but Taran­ti­no leaves it there, with Jules in the state of inter­nal con­tra­dic­tion Socrates called apo­r­ia. After all, like most of Taran­ti­no’s talk­a­tive char­ac­ters, they’ve got a a job to do.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ani­mat­ed Philoso­phers Presents a Rock­ing Intro­duc­tion to Socrates, the Father of Greek Phi­los­o­phy

Allan Bloom’s Lec­tures on Socrates (Boston Col­lege, 1983)

Why Socrates Hat­ed Democ­ra­cies: An Ani­mat­ed Case for Why Self-Gov­ern­ment Requires Wis­dom & Edu­ca­tion

Socrates on TV, Cour­tesy of Alain de Bot­ton (2000)

What Makes The Death of Socrates a Great Work of Art?: A Thought-Pro­vok­ing Read­ing of David’s Philo­soph­i­cal & Polit­i­cal Paint­ing

44 Essen­tial Movies for the Stu­dent of Phi­los­o­phy

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The “West Side Story” Story — Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast #114

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Did it make sense for Steven Spiel­berg to remake one of our nation’s most beloved musi­cals (with music by Bern­stein and Sond­heim!), attempt­ing to fix the parts that did not age well polit­i­cal­ly? Is the new ver­sion a mod­ern clas­sic or a doomed Franken­stein?

Your host Mark Lin­sen­may­er is joined by Broad­way schol­ar, the­ater crit­ic, and actor Ron Fassler; Remakes, Reboots, and Revivals co-host Nicole Pomet­ti; and Broad­way actor and long-time PEL friend BIll Youmans.

Ron regales us with facts about the orig­i­nal 1957 musi­cal and the 1961 acclaimed film ver­sion. We con­sid­er the choic­es for the new film in film­ing, chore­og­ra­phy, cast­ing, and how the script was com­plete­ly rewrit­ten by play­wright Tony Kush­n­er with lots of con­sul­ta­tion with the Puer­to Rican com­mu­ni­ty to ensure that the rep­re­sen­ta­tion­al mis­takes of the old­er ver­sions were cor­rect­ed. Also, why is this not doing so well at the box office, and what does this mean?

We also touch on oth­er recent movie musi­cals includ­ing In the Heights and Cats, and think about in gen­er­al how gen­res and tropes pop­u­lar in the past are far­ing today.

Some of the arti­cles we con­sid­ered in prepar­ing for this episode includ­ed:

This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion you can access by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop or by choos­ing a paid sub­scrip­tion through Apple Pod­casts. This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts.

 

Charles and Ray Eames’ Powers of Ten Updated to Reflect Our Modern Understanding of the Universe

We’ve expe­ri­enced some mind­blow­ing tech­no­log­i­cal advances in the years fol­low­ing design­ers Charles and Ray Eames’ 1977 film Pow­ers of Ten: A Film Deal­ing with the Rel­a­tive Size of Things in the Uni­verse and the Effect of Adding Anoth­er Zero.

Cryp­tocur­ren­cy

Seg­ways

E‑cigarettes

And y’know, all sorts of inno­v­a­tive strides in the fields of med­i­cinecom­mu­ni­ca­tions, and envi­ron­men­tal sus­tain­abil­i­ty.

In the above video for the BBC, par­ti­cle physi­cist Bri­an Cox pays trib­ute to the Eames’ cel­e­brat­ed eight-and-a-half-minute doc­u­men­tary short, and uses the dis­cov­er­ies of the last four-and-a-half decades to kick the can a bit fur­ther down the road.

The orig­i­nal film helped ordi­nary view­ers get a han­dle on the universe’s out­er edges by tele­scop­ing up and out from a one-meter view of a pic­nic blan­ket in a Chica­go park at the rate of one pow­er of ten every 10 sec­onds.

Start with some­thing every­body can under­stand, right?

At 100 (102) meters — slight­ly less than the total length of an Amer­i­can foot­ball field, the pic­nick­ers become part of the urban land­scape, shar­ing their space with cars, boats at anchor in Lake Michi­gan, and a shock­ing dearth of fel­low pic­nick­ers.

One more pow­er of 10 and the pick­nick­ers dis­ap­pear from view, eclipsed by Sol­dier Field, the Shedd Aquar­i­um, the Field Muse­um and oth­er long­stand­ing down­town Chica­go insti­tu­tions.

At 1024 meters — 100 mil­lion light years away from the start­ing pic­nic blan­ket, the Eames butted up against the lim­its of the observ­able uni­verse, at least as far as 1977 was con­cerned.

They reversed direc­tion, hurtling back down to earth by one pow­er of ten every two sec­onds. With­out paus­ing for so much as hand­ful of fruit or a slice of pie, they dove beneath the skin of a doz­ing picnicker’s hand, con­tin­u­ing their jour­ney on a cel­lu­lar, then sub-atom­ic lev­el, end­ing inside a pro­ton of a car­bon atom with­in a DNA mol­e­cule in a white blood cell.

It still man­ages to put the mind in a whirl.

Sit tight, though, because, as Pro­fes­sor Cox points out, “Over 40 years lat­er, we can show a bit more.”

2021 relo­cates the pic­nic blan­ket to a pic­turesque beach in Sici­ly, and for­goes the trip inside the human body in favor of Deep Space, though the method of trav­el remains the same — expo­nen­tial, by pow­ers of ten.

1013 meters finds us head­ing into inter­stel­lar space, on the heels of Voy­agers 1 and 2, the twin space­crafts launched the same year as the Eames’ Pow­ers of Ten — 1977.

Hav­ing achieved their ini­tial objec­tive, the explo­ration of Jupiter and Sat­urn, these space­crafts’ mis­sion was expand­ed to Uranus, Nep­tune, and now, the out­er­most edge of the Sun’s domain. The data they, and oth­er explorato­ry crafts, have sent back allow Cox and oth­ers in the  sci­en­tif­ic com­mu­ni­ty to take us beyond the Eames’ out­er­most lim­its:

At 1026 meters, we switch our view to microwave. We can now see the cur­rent lim­it of our vision. This light forms a wall all around us. The light and dark patch­es show dif­fer­ences in tem­per­a­ture by frac­tions of a degree, reveal­ing where mat­ter was begin­ning to clump togeth­er to form the first galax­ies short­ly after the Big Bang. This light is known as the cos­mic microwave back­ground radi­a­tion. 

1027 meters…1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000. Beyond this point, the nature of the Uni­verse is tru­ly unchart­ed and debat­ed. This light was emit­ted around 380,000 years after the Big Bang. Before this time, the Uni­verse was so hot that it was not trans­par­ent to light. Is there sim­ply more uni­verse out there, yet to be revealed? Or is this region still expand­ing, gen­er­at­ing more uni­verse, or even oth­er uni­vers­es with dif­fer­ent phys­i­cal prop­er­ties to our own? How will our under­stand­ing of the Uni­verse have changed by 2077? How many more pow­ers of ten are out there?

Accord­ing to NASA, the Voy­ager crafts have suf­fi­cient pow­er and fuel to keep their “cur­rent suite of sci­ence instru­ments on” for anoth­er four years, at least. By then, Voy­ager 1 will be about 13.8 bil­lion miles, and Voy­ager 2 some 11.4 bil­lion miles from the Sun:

In about 40,000 years, Voy­ager 1 will drift with­in 1.6 light-years (9.3 tril­lion miles) of AC+79 3888, a star in the con­stel­la­tion of Camelopardalis which is head­ing toward the con­stel­la­tion Ophi­uchus. In about 40,000 years, Voy­ager 2 will pass 1.7 light-years (9.7 tril­lion miles) from the star Ross 248 and in about 296,000 years, it will pass 4.3 light-years (25 tril­lion miles) from Sir­ius, the bright­est star in the sky. The Voy­agers are destined—perhaps eternally—to wan­der the Milky Way.

If this dizzy­ing infor­ma­tion makes you yearn for 1987’s sim­ple plea­sures, this Way­back Machine link includes a fun inter­ac­tive for the orig­i­nal Pow­ers of Ten. Click the “show text” option on an expo­nen­tial slid­er tool to con­sid­er the scale of each stop in his­toric and tan­gi­ble con­text.

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Carl Sagan’s “The Pale Blue Dot” Ani­mat­ed

Watch Pow­ers of Ten and Let Design­ers Charles & Ray Eames Take You on a Bril­liant Tour of the Uni­verse

Watch Oscar-Nom­i­nat­ed Doc­u­men­tary Uni­verse, the Film that Inspired the Visu­al Effects of Stan­ley Kubrick’s 2001 and Gave the HAL 9000 Com­put­er Its Voice (1960)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

The Matrix Regurgitated — Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast #113

In light of the release of The Matrix Res­ur­rec­tions, we talk through the fran­chise as a whole. What made the first one remark­able, and does that a bar that any sequel can reach? We talk through the choic­es that fed into the new film, why peo­ple don’t seem to care about their matrix fam­i­lies, the end­less fight scenes, and more. Who will choose the blue pill?

This very spe­cial hol­i­day episode of Pret­ty Much Pop reunites the full sea­son one pan­el: Mark Lin­sen­may­er, Bri­an Hirt and Eri­ca Spyres, and fea­tures the pod­cast­ing debut of Mark’s son Abe Lin­sen­may­er.

Some arti­cles we con­sid­ered includ­ed:

This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion you can access by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop or by choos­ing a paid sub­scrip­tion through Apple Pod­casts. This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts.

What’s Entering the Public Domain in 2022: The Sun Also Rises, Winnie-the-Pooh, Buster Keaton Comedies & More

Ernest Hem­ing­way “made the Eng­lish lan­guage new, changed the rhythms of the way both his own and the next few gen­er­a­tions would speak and write and think. The very gram­mar of a Hem­ing­way sen­tence dic­tat­ed, or was dic­tat­ed by, a cer­tain way of look­ing at the world, a way of look­ing but not join­ing, a way of mov­ing through but not attach­ing, a kind of roman­tic indi­vid­u­al­ism dis­tinct­ly adapt­ed to its time and source.” So writes the late Joan Did­ion, a writer hard­ly with­out influ­ence her­self, in a 1998 reflec­tion on the author of such nov­els as A Farewell to Arms, For Whom the Bell Tolls, and  The Old Man and the Sea.

The lit­er­ary phe­nom­e­non that was Hem­ing­way began in earnest, as it were, with The Sun Also Ris­es. Hav­ing been pub­lished in 1926, his first full-length nov­el now stands on the brink of the pub­lic domain. So do a vari­ety of oth­er works that launched sto­ried careers: William Faulkn­er’s first nov­el Sol­diers’ Pay, for instance, or A.A. Mil­ne’s Win­nie-the-Pooh, which intro­duced the now-beloved tit­u­lar bear to the read­ing pub­lic. Hav­ing cel­e­brat­ed his 90th anniver­sary back in 2016 with the addi­tion of a new pen­guin char­ac­ter to the Hun­dred Acre Wood, Win­nie-the-Pooh remains the core of what has devel­oped into a for­mi­da­ble cul­tur­al indus­try.

The work of Hem­ing­way, too, has inspired no small amount of com­mer­cial enter­prise. (Did­ion writes of Thomasville Fur­ni­ture Indus­tries’ new “Ernest Hem­ing­way Col­lec­tion,” whose themes include “Kenya,” “Key West,” “Havana,” and “Ketchum.”) But now that work itself has begun to come legal­ly avail­able to all, free of charge: “any­one can res­cue them from obscu­ri­ty and make them avail­able, where we can all dis­cov­er, enjoy, and breathe new life into them.”

So writes Jen­nifer Jenk­ins, Direc­tor of Duke’s Cen­ter for the Study of the Pub­lic Domain, in her post on Pub­lic Domain Day 2022. In it she names a host of oth­er 1926 books sim­i­lar­ly set for lib­er­a­tion, includ­ing Langston Hugh­es’ The Weary Blues, T. E. Lawrence’s The Sev­en Pil­lars of Wis­dom, Agatha Christie’s The Mur­der of Roger Ack­royd, and H. L. Menck­en’s Notes on Democ­ra­cy.

The deep­er we get into the 21st cen­tu­ry, the wider the vari­ety of media that falls into the pub­lic domain. Jenk­ins high­lights silent-film come­dies like For Heaven’s Sake with Harold Lloyd and Bat­tling But­ler with Buster Keaton, as well — the mid-1920s hav­ing seen the dawn of the “talkie” — as sound pic­tures like Don Juan, the “first fea­ture-length film to use the Vita­phone sound sys­tem.” Unlike in pre­vi­ous years, a large num­ber of not just musi­cal com­po­si­tions but actu­al sound record­ings will also come avail­able for free reuse. These include records by jazz and blues singer Ethel Waters, oper­at­ic tenor Enri­co Caru­so, cel­list Pablo Casals, and com­pos­er-pianist Sergei Rach­mani­noff. And as for those wait­ing to reuse the work of Joan Did­ion, rest assured that The White Album will be yours on Pub­lic Domain Day 2091.

On a relat­ed note, the Pub­lic Domain Review has a nice post overview­ing the sound record­ings enter­ing the pub­lic domain in ’22.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ernest Hemingway’s Very First Pub­lished Sto­ries, Free as an eBook

Hear the Clas­sic Win­nie-the-Pooh Read by Author A.A. Milne in 1929

Watch the Great Russ­ian Com­pos­er Sergei Rach­mani­noff in Home Movies

Safe­ty Last, the 1923 Movie Fea­tur­ing the Most Icon­ic Scene from Silent Film Era, Just Went Into the Pub­lic Domain

The Pub­lic Domain Project Makes 10,000 Film Clips, 64,000 Images & 100s of Audio Files Free to Use

Libraries & Archivists Are Dig­i­tiz­ing 480,000 Books Pub­lished in 20th Cen­tu­ry That Are Secret­ly in the Pub­lic Domain

Cre­ative Com­mons Offi­cial­ly Launch­es a Search Engine That Index­es 300+ Mil­lion Pub­lic Domain Images

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Famous Downfall Scene Explained: What Really Happened in Hitler’s Bunker at the End?

Before his role as Hitler in the 2004 Ger­man film Down­fall turned Swiss actor Bruno Ganz into a viral inter­net star, he was best known for play­ing an angel who com­forts the dying in Wim Wen­ders’ 1987 Wings of Desire. “Peo­ple real­ly seemed to think of me as a guardian angel,” he told The Irish Times in 2005. “Peo­ple would bring their chil­dren before me for a bless­ing or some­thing.” Sev­en­teen years lat­er, the self-described intro­vert trans­formed his gen­tle, com­fort­ing face into the Nazi screen mon­ster: “Noth­ing pre­pared me for what must be the most con­vinc­ing screen Hitler yet,” wrote The Guardian’s Rob Mack­ie. “An old, bent, sick dic­ta­tor with the shak­ing hands of some­one with Parkinson’s, alter­nat­ing between rage and despair in his last days in the bunker.”

This por­tray­al has nev­er been sur­passed, and per­haps it nev­er will be. How many fic­tion­al­ized film treat­ments of these events do we need? Espe­cial­ly since this one lives for­ev­er in meme form: Ganz end­less­ly spit­ting and ges­tic­u­lat­ing, while cap­tions sub­ti­tle him rant­i­ng about “his piz­za arriv­ing late” – Gael Fash­ing­baeur Coop­er writes at cnet – or “the Red Wed­ding scene on Game of Thrones, or find­ing out he was­n’t accept­ed into Har­ry Pot­ter’s Hog­warts.” As Vir­ginia Hef­fer­nan wrote at The New York Times in 2008 – maybe the height of the meme’s viral­i­ty – “It seems that late-life Hitler can be made to speak for almost any­one in the midst of a cri­sis…. Some­thing in the spec­ta­cle of an auto­crat falling to pieces evi­dent­ly has wide­spread appeal.”

Giv­en the wide­spread pref­er­ence for memes over facts, the ubiq­ui­ty of the Down­fall clip as viral spec­ta­cle, and the renewed rel­e­vance of mur­der­ous autoc­ra­cy in the West, we might find our­selves won­der­ing about the his­tor­i­cal accu­ra­cy of Down­fall’s por­tray­al. Did the dic­ta­tor real­ly lose it in the end? And why do we find this idea so sat­is­fy­ing? To begin to answer the first ques­tion, we might turn to the video above, “That Down­fall Scene Explained,” from the mak­ers of The Great War, billed as the “biggest ever crowd­fund­ed his­to­ry doc­u­men­tary.” Despite tak­ing as their sub­ject the First World War, the film­mak­ers also cov­er some of the events of WWII for fans.

First, we must remem­ber that Down­fall is an “artis­tic inter­pre­ta­tion.” It con­dens­es weeks into days, days into hours, and takes oth­er such dra­mat­ic lib­er­ties with accounts gath­ered from eye­wit­ness­es. So, “what is Hitler freak­ing out about” in the famous scene?, the sub­ti­tle asks. It is April 1945. The Red Army is 40 kilo­me­ters from Nazi head­quar­ters in Berlin. The dictator’s Chief of the Army Gen­er­al Staff Hans Krebs explains the sit­u­a­tion. Hitler remains in con­trol, draw­ing pos­si­ble lines of attack on the map, believ­ing that SS com­man­der Felix Steiner’s Panz­er divi­sions will repel the Sovi­ets.

Lit­tle does he know that Steiner’s divi­sions exist only on paper. In real­i­ty, the SS leader has refused to take to the field, con­vinced the bat­tle can­not be won. Anoth­er Gen­er­al, Alfred Jodel, steps in and deliv­ers the news. Hitler then clears the room of all but Jodl, Krebs, and two oth­er high-rank­ing gen­er­als. Joseph Goebbels and Mar­tin Bor­mann stay behind as well. Then (as played by Ganz, that is) Hitler has that famous screen melt­down. The out­burst “shows just how he had cen­tral­ized the chain of com­mand,” and how it failed him.

This may have been so. Down­fall presents us with a con­vinc­ing, if high­ly con­densed, por­trait of the major per­son­al­i­ties involved. But “the scene that spawned a thou­sand YouTube par­o­dies,” writes Alex Ross at The New York­er, “is based, in part, on prob­lem­at­ic sources.” One of these, the so-called Hitler Book, was com­piled from “tes­ti­mo­ny of two Hitler adju­tants, Otto Gün­sche and Heinz Linge, who had been cap­tured by the Red Army and inter­ro­gat­ed at length…. The most curi­ous thing about The Hitler Book is that it was intend­ed for a sin­gle read­er: Joseph Stal­in.” The Sovi­et dic­ta­tor want­ed, and got, “a lav­ish­ly detailed chron­i­cle of Hitler’s psy­cho­log­i­cal implo­sion.” Oth­er sources “con­vey a more com­plex pic­ture.”

Accord­ing to oth­er accounts, Hitler was “gen­er­al­ly com­posed” when learn­ing about the Red Army attack on Berlin, even as he decid­ed to give up and die in the bunker. Accord­ing to Nazi stenog­ra­ph­er, Ger­hard Her­rge­sell, it was the gen­er­als who “vio­lent­ly opposed” sur­ren­der and spoke harsh­ly to Hitler to per­suade him to defend the city – a speech that had some effect dur­ing an April 22nd meet­ing. It did not, of course, pre­vent Hitler and his new bride Eva Braun’s even­tu­al April 30 sui­cide. For Ross, how­ev­er, this more com­plex his­tor­i­cal pic­ture shows “how cults of per­son­al­i­ty feed as much upon the aspi­ra­tions of their mem­bers as upon the ambi­tions of their lead­ers.” The mem­bers of Hitler’s inner cir­cle were as com­mit­ted to the ide­ol­o­gy as the leader him­self.

There is more to the film’s title in Ger­man, Unter­gang, than its trans­la­tion sug­gests, Ross writes: “It car­ries con­no­ta­tions of decline, dis­so­lu­tion, or destruc­tion.” When we fix the end of Nazism to the sui­ci­dal death of one delu­sion­al, drug-addled mad­man, we lose sight of this wider mean­ing. In the viral spread of the Hitler meme, we see a kind of com­i­cal­ly banal tri­umph. It is “the out­come,” Hef­fer­nan argues, that “Hitler, the his­tor­i­cal fig­ure sought….” A sit­u­a­tion in which he becomes “not the author of the Holo­caust” but “the brute voice of the every­man uncon­scious,” a pro­lif­er­at­ing griev­ance machine. From anoth­er per­spec­tive, imag­in­ing Hitler’s end may offer “com­fort­ing moral clo­sure to a sto­ry of lim­it­less hor­ror,” writes Ross. But it has helped feed the myth that it could only hap­pen there and then: “Now Ger­man his­to­ri­ans are end­ing their books on Nazism with thin­ly veiled ref­er­ences to an Amer­i­can Unter­gang.”

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How Did Hitler Rise to Pow­er? : New TED-ED Ani­ma­tion Pro­vides a Case Study in How Fas­cists Get Demo­c­ra­t­i­cal­ly Elect­ed

Carl Jung Psy­cho­an­a­lyzes Hitler: “He’s the Uncon­scious of 78 Mil­lion Ger­mans.” “With­out the Ger­man Peo­ple He’d Be Noth­ing” (1938)

Hitler Was ‘Blitzed’ On Cocaine & Opi­ates Dur­ing World War II: Hear a Wide-Rang­ing Inter­view with Best-Sell­ing Author Nor­man Ohler

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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